Think about it.
Just, really think about it for a moment.
Yes, I am asking you to put forth cognitive consideration on the confectionary topic of what can be definitively summarized by the word pairing "fruit spread."
Now, I am certainly not an expert in the jam department, but I am fairly confident that some form of fruit spread can be made from nearly any fruit desired by the consumer of such composite anointment. To clarify, jam is the fruit spread containing chunks of produce, jelly is essentially the product of strained jam, and marmalade is, in essence, the citrus version of creating a sugary fruit paste to be smeared on dry yeast to improve its edible quality.
I know what you're thinking—"there's definitely fruit out there that I would never, ever convert into toast-enhancer"—and I want to assure you that I have, in fact, considered this dimension of the world of spreadable fruit preserves and would like to briefly cover a short list of fruits that would not prove desirable in gelatinous form.
Melons, any melons, but specifically watermelons.
I think that about covers it. Moving on.
There are multiple uses for jam, jelly, and marmalade, but I do believe that the most common one is to enhance the dry quality of the double-cooked dough we like to call "toast." Apparently it is common practice to add fruit spread to yogurt, muffins, scones, ice cream, cookies, etc., and while you are free to consider these uses as you continue to engage with the experience that is this article, I am choosing to focus most heavily on fruit spread's morning pursuit of toast-based happiness.
So, I would like to journey into the discovery of what ingredients are compiled to result in the amalgamation of pectin-saturated toast-moistener. Fruit, water, and sugar. That's it, that's all. Pretty simple, huh? Yep, that about concludes our tour through the list of fundamental jam constituencies... Thank you for joining us and have a nice day!
I know that the direction of this literary composition isn't very clear right now, but please, if you have made it this far, bear with me, as we are steadily approaching a thought-provoking, novel conclusion.
Yes. I did intend on typing that bold-texted plural noun.
"What do tomatoes have to do with—" ah-ah-ah, not so fast—be patient! Are you not aware that tomatoes are frequently incorrectly categorized as vegetables? Mm, yes, quite! Those scarlet, rotund salsa balls are actually alienated fruit rejects of the produce department. Do you see where I am going with this now?
If you're thinking something along the lines of "ew, you wouldn't add sugar to tomatoes and spread it on toast," I would first appreciate some recognition for being able to read your mind before ever even knowing you would be reading this, but more importantly, I have one word for you: KETCHUP.
Sure, ketchup contains some additional trimmings beyond the traditional three-item conception of fruit spread, but ketchup cannot exist without chemically combining its essential misfit fruit foundation with sugar. Although you probably wouldn't spread ketchup on golden breakfast carbs alone, melt some slices cut from a moisture-infused, aged dairy brick on your crust-framed wheat square and I'm sure the prospect of enhancing the spirit of such a culinary infusion with a dollop of sugary-tomato jelly doesn't sound so bad.
In conclusion, ketchup is jam, or at the very least, belongs to the same family as jam, jelly, and marmalade.
So, the next time you get a hankering to dump ketchup in your yogurt or smear jam on a side of potatoes, think of this. Take your tastebuds on an adventure.
About the author
Strange. Unique. Rationally nonsensical.
One day, I would love to be able to quit my job and pursue writing, drawing, and other creative avenues full-time.
Creating and engaging with my imagination is what I was made to do.